HellMouth
by SuperKat
Summary: If I lose him to this, that horrible excuse for a living being will have taken everything from me. I cannot allow that to happen. SangoMiroku one shot.


**Disclaimer: **If I had the ability to come up with characters as cool as Inuyasha and everything associated with him, I would be reaping the benefits of my brilliance, not borrowing Rumiko Takahashi's property and posting stories about them on the web. I am not making any money off of this. No infringement is intended.

* * *

It truly is a spectacular sight. 

Spectacular in a terrible way, but awe-inspiring just the same. Tiny spurts of lightning crackle and low rumbles of thunder shake dark clouds; everything pulses and vibrates with apocalyptic excitement.

And oh God, the _wind._

It's like a vortex: a howling, screaming hurricane that snaps stones and whisks trees clean out of the ground. Dirt and grass and dust and a thousand other things are swirling around me; the air is so thick with it that daylight has essentially become night. Only if you look carefully can you see that it's not actually moving in a circle.

It's all I can do to keep standing, let alone move. My hair is trying to rip itself out of my skull; my ribbon is long gone so half of it flaps across my face. I've given up vain efforts to keep it out of my eyes and mouth, soit is with tears streaming down my cheeks and the disgusting taste of hair on my tongue that I struggle forward. My skirt will trip me if I'm not careful, so I keep my steps deliberate, cautious. Yet I try to move quickly, because I know that I am running out of time.

I hate the sound of those screams.

I've witnessed a lot of terrible things in my life, the majority within the last few years. I've seen death, felt betrayal, smelled blood and tasted tears. By far the worst is the sound of screaming. Whether demon or human, old or young or innocent or evil or whatever, the sound of agony sends chills down my spine even when everything is silent. So I do the only thing I can and move forward to calm that horrible cry.

Because it's always ten times worse when it's him. He tries to be brave, tries to muster strength he was not trained to have, tries to grunt and smile his way through pain, but I know better. We all know better, but especially me. It rips my heart out every time I have to hear it. The void it leaves begins to collapse in on itself and I keep thinking that one of these days, that sound will break me. This time is different. This time I know that from now on I won't have to listen to it anymore.

I see him, and my heart breaks all over again. He only lets his true emotions show when he thinks no one can see him, so the sight of his face nearly knocks me off my feet. Terror runs unrestrained through his eyes and mouth, draining color from his skin and sucking him of everything he ever pretended to be. I have to get to him soon.

It is a mark of the situation that he doesn't notice me until I'm practically at his side. His eyes soften for a second – a tiny, lightning flash of a moment – before his face contorts in terror again. I am the first and last person he wants to see right now.

"Sango!" he cries, blocking my step with his left hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out of here, now! Go somewhere safe while you still can."

Even he knows it's far too late by now, but he'll never hear of not trying. The way he extends his right arm behind his back, as if the extra two feet is going to save me, makes me smile and I take his other hand in both of mine.

"I'm not leaving you," I shout, and I move forward because even on his best days he isn't strong enough to hold me back and he knows it. Plus, this is not a time for shouting. I wrap my arms around him – it feels strange to be the physically forward one but what of it now – and whisper in his ear.

"I told you once that when you can't go on, I will die with you. I intend to keep that promise."

There is a gaping black nothingness where his hand once was. The sight is ghastly enough, but more than that I'm running out of time and I don't want this to end with us arguing.

"Sango," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. Whether or not he has more to say, I'll never know, because a scream of pain pierces the rush of the wind and my blood runs cold. I need to stop the screaming, and I need to stop it now. So I do the only thing I can think to do.

I kiss him.

It seems strange that two people who have been promised to one another as long as we have haven't kissed yet, especially considering his physical tendencies, but somehow wandering hands did not translate into wandering lips. It surprises him, I'm sure. I can feel his eyes widen. He does not respond for a full second, but when he does, it's more than heaven.

The pain and the screaming vanishes, is carried away in the howling wind, sucked into the wretched hell-mouth awaiting us. I feel only this. His lips. His lips and mine. Our kiss. The soft, gentle innocence of it all. The warmth of his touch and the feeling that I am truly, finally home.

My eyes pop open.

The sudden silence has left a ringing noise in my ears, and my cheeks continue to burn from the feel of the wind. It all felt so real that my skin still tingles, feels raw from the adrenaline.

The campfire has nearly died, tiny yellow flames flicker feebly from between cinders, and only a trace of its warmth lingers in the night air. Through the smoke, I see him, sitting of course, resting against the trunk of a tree. His eyes are closed, but I know he's awake. Has he been dreaming about the same thing? One can never tell what he's thinking by his face, because he has more than mastered the peaceful façade.

Seeing him warms me, comforts me. Knowing that he'll feel me watching, I close my eyes and shift ever-so-slightly, trying to feign sleep but knowing that it will not come for a while.

When the day comes – _if_ it comes, that is, because I know of no one who'll let Naraku live much longer – I know what I have to do. I have no choice: he is the last thing I have, and if I lose him that horrible excuse for a living being will have successfully taken everything from me. I cannot allow that to happen. I refuse.

When and if that horrible day ever reaches us, he'll need me by his side, and deep down he knows it as well as I do. He'll try to resist, I'm certain. It's just his nature. In the end, however, I will make him understand. If it is his obligation to die, it is my obligation to die with him. Those last moments will be our best, our worst, our defeat and our victory.

And oh God, will they be wonderful.


End file.
